


Nobody Don't Like Christmas (2: Electric Bugaloo)

by chameleontattoos



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22923382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chameleontattoos/pseuds/chameleontattoos
Summary: Casey nudges the door the rest of the way open, crossing the threshold to find Guzma sitting on the end of his bed and glaring down at the ball of green wrapping paper crunched between his hands as though it had keyed his car and superglued a party horn to the exhaust pipe.(A rewrite of an old fic of mine by the same name.)
Relationships: Guzma (Pokemon)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Nobody Don't Like Christmas (2: Electric Bugaloo)

“Guz?” Casey asks, pausing with a hand on Guzma’s bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar; through the gap she can see his favourite black jacket lying abandoned on the floor in a crumpled heap. “It’s me. I wanted to see if you were alright, but if you’d rather not have company…?”

There’s a muffled exclamation, followed by the quiet sound of crumpling paper.

“No, yeah, it’s fine,” comes the eventual response.

Casey nudges the door the rest of the way open, crossing the threshold to find Guzma sitting on the end of his bed and glaring down at the ball of green wrapping paper crunched between his hands as though it had keyed his car and superglued a party horn to the exhaust pipe.

In place of his jacket, a lurid purple pullover fits snugly over his broad shoulders. The sleeves are long, covering his palms; stitched holes on the sides of the cuffs allow his thumbs to peek through.

One of the younger grunts had given it to him. Purple is, after all, his favourite colour—and it gets _cold_ in Po Town, with all the rain. It was a very thoughtful gift, logistically speaking.

Unfortunately, there’s no accounting for taste. Not to mention, Guzma is absolute rubbish at controlling his facial expressions even at the best of times. He got it halfway unwrapped before taking one look at the thing and making a face that would have been much more at home on someone sucking a particularly sour Sitrus berry. Winnie had been _devastated_.

Guzma looks up when Casey enters. His deeply frustrated frown lightens at the sight of her, but only slightly.

_Big baby._

“I hate to be the person to toot this particular horn,” Casey starts, “But it’s just a sweater, Guz.”

“A gods-awful sweater,” Guzma grumbles.

“A gods-awful sweater that you only have to wear once a year, if that.” Casey spots a mug full of glossy brown liquid on a side table, and picks it up before approaching the bed. “Can I sit?” she asks, offering it to him handle-first.

“I’d rather’ve got a pair o’socks,” he grouses, taking the mug—which smells like extra-chocolatey Tapu Cocoa—and dropping the balled-up paper on the floor. “Knock yourself out.”

Casey climbs onto the bed beside him, sitting criss-cross. “I know you hate Christmas, G. So do I. But it won’t kill either of us to _pretend_ , will it?” she asks, studying his profile as he takes a morose sip from his steaming cocoa.

“S’a bullshit capitalist holiday,” Guzma says stubbornly, going in for another sip. The foam on top gives him a slight moustache, which he wipes away with his sleeve. He examines the new damp spot on the purple wool for a moment before snorting and rubbing it on his jeans.

“I know. But that doesn’t mean shit,” Casey retorts.

Her vehemence startles Guzma, who turns his head to look at her with wide, surprised eyes. “How d’you figure?”

She shrugs. “You’ve seen how excited your kids are, haven’t you? Christmas might have been turned into the peak of Shitty Consumerism Mountain, but it’s still one of the best times of the year for everyone you care about to gather ‘round and exchange, y’know,” she gestures at the mug. It had been a gift from Plumeria for Guzma’s birthday this year. “Stupid little objects to remind you that they care about you too.”

Guzma opens his mouth, probably to interrupt, but Casey shakes her head, squinting playfully. “I’m not done, _Grinch_.”

He can’t quite stifle a smile, raising his mug in a wordless _Go on, then_.

She elbows him before continuing. “Sure, yeah, the sweater hurts my eyes. But Winnie saved up and bought it because it made her think of _you_. Plus—me and Plume got plenty of presents from the grunts, but you got twice as many. And has a single one of them given you backchat today?”

Guzma pauses to think back over the course of the day. “I don’t think so,” he says slowly.

Casey snaps her fingers. “Exactly.”

The sound of lively chaos rises from downstairs, prompting her to scoot forward until she can get her feet under her and stand up from Guzma’s bed. “All I’m saying,” she continues, retrieving Guzma’s jacket from the floor and hanging it from the hook behind the door, “Is that sometimes it’s okay to pretend that you don’t hate the ugly sweater, or the novelty pocket heat-packs—”

“They look like _turds_ , Case, it’s _brilliant_.”

“And I’m gonna be the person at the bus stop dual-wielding poop-shaped hand warmers. Thank you _so_ much for those.” Casey snorts. “But I do give you credit for _trying_ , and that’s my point.” Jacket safely hung up and dusted free of dirt, she leans a shoulder against the inside of the door frame. “Winnie _tried_ , and I think you know she did or else you wouldn’t be wearing what she gave you.”

“…Yeah.” Guzma looks down at his pullover, then back up at Casey. His expression is unreadable. “You’re right. Gotta give people credit for… tryin’.”

She nods, turning to go. Judging by the steadily increasing volume of adolescent yelling, she really should be heading back down there to help with lunch before someone does something silly, like kick the roast into the swimming pool. She trusts maybe two of them to use the temperamental old oven without supervision.

“W-Wait, I—” Guzma rises from the bed, his long legs making short work of the distance between it and the door. “There’s somethin’ I need t’ give you.” He grins. “Before I lose ya to the clamorin’ masses.”

“What is it?” A thought occurs to her. “If it’s more turd-themed gag gifts that you forgot to give me before, I swear to Xerneas—”

“—Just—just—” he puts up a hand. “Gimme a second. This is harder’n I thought it was gonna be.”

He shifts closer, lightly touching his fingers to Casey’s cheek. His other hand comes forward, reaching for hers, and she tangles her fingers with his almost on instinct.

“Guz?” she asks, searching his expression as if she’ll find a clue there to his sudden—but definitely not _unwelcome_ —desire to. Kiss her? That’s what _seems_ to be happening.

He swallows lightly. “If I wanted to—to kiss you,” he says, voice so quiet that it’s almost a whisper ( _There’s my answer_ , Casey thinks), “Would you be alright with it?”

She nods tentatively, and some of the apprehension clears from Guzma’s expression. There’s a moment of silence between them, and then it’s as though time warps just slightly and there are lips on hers where there was just the suggestion of breath before.

It’s brief. Soft. Casey wets her lips with her tongue when they part and tastes buttery chocolate.

Guzma’s cheeks are pink. “I should, uh. Go apologise to Winnie,” he says, although he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from her mouth. Casey realises with a small thrill that she _likes_ having this effect on him.

But—oh, yes, he’d said something. “Right! Right, yes, lunch,” Casey fumbles. “I’m—”

“Hey.” Guzma runs a knuckle along the edge of her jaw. “Thank you.”

She stares at him. She can’t really help it. His hand is warm, and so are his eyes, and he’s done a lot of things in the last twenty seconds that have left her feeling thoroughly… _swept_ , for lack of a better word. “For what?”

“Settin’ me straight,” he says, “I needed it. And the, uh. Lettin’ me kiss you?”

“Are you asking me if I let you?” Casey asks teasingly.

Guzma smirks, but it’s not as menacing as usual. There’s a softness to the corners of his lips that Casey has never seen before. “Not on purpose, but I sure hope you did. I don’t like makin’ moves on people I fancy without their say-so.”

“You—you _fancy_ —”

The smirk becomes a grin. “Merry Christmas, beautiful.” He winks at her before skirting around her and disappearing downstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! So, this was fun actually. 
> 
> I've been wanting to rewrite NDLC for a few months now because 1) My writing style has changed in the last two years (I just checked and it's really been two years almost to the day since I posted the original!!) and I thought it'd be fun to compare, and 2) Casey didn't exist as fully as she does now back then so I wanted to recreate the scenario using her because I am my own biggest enabler. 
> 
> If you follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/solarfruit) you'd have seen that I originally planned to hold off on actually following through until the original got to 100 kudos, but today has been a Day and I needed something soft to do so I elected to just go for it. 
> 
> It's over double the original in length and I am very proud of myself for that too!!
> 
> One more thing before I go: I'm putt-putting away like a little toy car on We Are Kings chapter 4, but I had an idea for _another_ Guzma/Casey fic that's a catburglar/superhero AU (which, actually, isn't the only other AU fic WIP for them, but it's the one I'm most excited about). I'm working on that slowly now too, and it'll most likely start going up on here once WAK is complete. I just really wanted to tell you guys about it because I'm already having fun with it, and I hope to be able to share it with you down the line!!


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